


Binding with briars my joys and desires

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Twincest, show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-10-02 00:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20445524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: The one-time Queen of the Seven Kingdoms flees to the Free Cities with her twin, to live the unencumbered life Jaime always wanted. Show-canon AU.





	Binding with briars my joys and desires

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from “The Garden of Love’ by William Blake.

When she gives herself the space and permission to recall her early childhood, Cersei Lannister remembers nothing so keenly as the fragrance of the Sunset Sea. The salt wove through the air, infusing the gentle breezes with brine, carrying the sensation of freedom, of exploration, of possibility.

But the heavy stench of rotting fish and water-sodden waste, the thick, adhesive humidity, the queasiness and the nausea she experiences now- none of this feels familiar.

The one-time Queen of the Seven Kingdoms curls her knees into her chest, silently cursing the abrasive straw-tack pallet for rubbing a violent crimson rash into her formerly smooth and alabaster skin. They’re stowed in the brig of a trading dinghy, heading east…to Braavos or Pentos or Myr…some godsforsaken place where their pasts carry no weight, where the Lannister name holds no significance.

The boat jerks with every swell and release of the tide, and she’s sure she’ll be sick again- between the erratic motion of this miserable vessel and the child growing in her womb, she’s constantly at the mercy of some discomfort or another.

But Jaime wraps his arms around her waist and gathers her close, his whiskers tickling the back of her neck as he brushes soft kisses up and down the nape- his breathing feels even, rhythmic, contented…envy seizes her gut, but she forces it aside for the time being, pressing her back flush against Jaime’s chest and willing her inhales and exhales to match his in perfect time.

* * *

They exit the boat on a hot and dusty pier overlooking a bustling marketplace. The sun glares down vindictively, and she’s sure that she’ll soon find ugly blotches of scarlet staining her cheeks and neck and collarbone. The thought unnerves her, and she feels her lips twist into a sullen scowl.

But her brother clearly doesn’t share her disdain for this new environment. He breezes through the market with a levity she hasn’t seen since his youthful tourney days, his posture erect and his eyes radiant. He’s invigorated, alive- _free_.

And although she’d love to share his enthusiasm, to revel in the potential of this unencumbered new life, she still recoils when he leads her to a jewelry broker and asks her to hand over the baubles she carried overseas. They’ll need coin, he explains- they need to buy a house and set themselves up in a comfortable manner. Reluctantly, she slips off her diamond pendant and ruby rings and onyx bangles and gold hair combs-

(Jaime removes his gold hand and sells the piece without hesitation, and she tries and fails to quash her own irritation at the sight of his smooth, unconcealed stump.)

At the last, Jaime asks her to hand over the final ring in her collection, the priceless golden lion that had once belonged to their mother. The merchant seems especially keen to get his grubby hands on this piece- “It’s worth more than the rest combined,” he insists.

Hot tears sear Cersei’s eyes as she forces the lion ring over her swollen knuckles and drops it in Jaime’s palm. He discusses pricing with the merchant, and she finds that she cannot be privy to the conversation- she slips away and braces her back against a nearby stucco wall, deriving some small satisfaction from the scrape of plaster on her skin as she slides down, down, down.

* * *

They find a small sandstone villa just steps from the water, with lemon trees in the front courtyard and a small stable to house the ponies Jaime purchases for them. The master bedchamber overlooks a green lawn, vertiginous palms, a crystalline blue sky-

“Finally,” Jaime sighs as she rides him, using his left hand to guide her hips in a circular pattern, tucking his stump beneath a pillow.

He’s blissful, beautiful, drawing her down to his mouth and smiling beatifically against her lips-

His gaze remains fully riveted to her face, to her body- but she can’t help but allow her peripheral vision to wander the room, taking stock of its plainness, the lack of refinement, the surfeit of valuable possessions-

Simple. Uncomplicated.

Empty.

* * *

Dark, dense blood drowns her flimsy smallclothes, and she crumbles on the floor of the privy chamber. Horror, confusion, and shame collide in her mind, fighting for dominance.

_My baby is gone_. Another lost child, another demolished dream-

(And in the crevices of her own conscience, she’s forced to wonder whether this unborn Lannister ever truly existed at all, whether she’d merely willed him into being, whether the swelling of her belly and the early-morning queasiness were a mere construct of her imagination, a desperate manifestation-)

She shares the news with Jaime when he returns from the fishing piers, and he immediately sweeps her into his arms, stroking her hair with his good hand, using his lips to clear away the tears staining her cheekbones and under-eyes.

“There will be others, Cersei. We can have other children…we can do anything we want here.”

He thinks he’s consoling her…but as she observes her brother’s face, she wonders whether he understands the implications of the wrinkles creasing both their brows, the grey streaking through both their hair.

_Of course, he’s a man, and it’s all different for men. He could take a young wife tomorrow and have a passel of children with her, and none would question it for a moment…_

Four children dead. Four children torn from this earth, torn from their destinies…and she’s no longer young, and there’s so little time-

She doesn’t realize that she’s angling her body as far from Jaime’s as possible until she catches a glimpse of her reflection in his pained and shadowed eyes.

* * *

News from Westeros creeps in bit by bit, morsel by morsel. She gathers what she can from the marketplace- the Dragon Queen dead, Rhaegar Targaryen’s boy exiled, a Stark monarch in King’s Landing and another in the North, her dastardly dwarf brother still wearing the Hand’s badge-

She needs a long walk by the water to parse through this information, to digest her own disappointment.

_And what have I to claim? No kingdom, no leadership, no goals, no pursuits…_

_Nothing but Jaime._

And for the first time, she allows herself to truly acknowledge what she’s known for years, possibly forever-

_He simply isn’t enough._

* * *

She acquires the tiny and deadly vial from a peculiar shop wedged at the end of a dim alleyway. It’s a suspicious locale, perfectly designed for its purpose, and she takes no small amount of satisfaction from the fact that the liquid she purchases there comes in a rich and vibrant red- blood red, Lannister red.

When she returns to the villa, she pours two glasses of chilled Dornish wine. Jaime doesn’t care for the beverage, but he’ll never refuse it, not when she makes the offer.

She tilts the small bottle into the goblets and smiles when the crimson poison and the crimson wine meld together in flawless unity. A quick swirl of her glass and a deep inhale- there’s no unusual odor, nothing to arouse suspicion.

Her twin reclines on a settee on the grounds behind the villa, the sun radiating off of the golden planes of his bare chest. He’s peaceful, relaxed, softly smiling…and his smile grows wider when he hears her approach, when she brushes the fingers of his left hand with the fingers of her right as she gives him the goblet.

She slides her body onto the settee and cushions her head in the curve between his neck and shoulder. He scatters kisses on the crown of her head, on her brow, on her eyelids-

She takes a long drink from her goblet. There’s a sweetness to the poison, and as it coats her tongue, she watches her brother tilt his own glass toward his lips.

Scarlet wine, golden hair, scarlet mouths, golden skin-

_It could only ever end this way- **we** could only ever end this way._


End file.
